Light moved differently today, not in rays
But in long, quiet exhalations
Spilling over rooftops
Over your shoulders
Over the place where my name almost lived on your lips
Everything was touched
By a softened glow
Not the kind that blinds
But the kind that remembers what it once was
I stood there
Half in shadow
Half inside a color
That had no name
Except the one my body gave it
When you looked at me like that
Like time had loosened its grip
Just enough
For us to exist without consequence
There was no urgency in you
No hunger that devours
Only that quiet pull
The kind that gathers in the spaces between words in a shared cup
In the unnoticed exchange of breath and heat
And something dangerously close to peace
If I closed my eyes
I could still feel it
That horizon bending slightly toward us
As if the world itself were conspiring to keep us suspended there
A moment longer
Not lovers
Not strangers
Just the two of us
Held gently
Inside a sky
Mari Sánchez Cayuso 
Leave a comment